


All That Jazz

by CorrineWrites



Category: Supernatural, due South
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorrineWrites/pseuds/CorrineWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unusual murder in Chicago attracts the Winchesters, who must thwart a powerful new threat before the entire world is threatened.<br/>Some violence in final chapter but I think no more than would usually be seen in a Supernatural episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pintpotjudas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintpotjudas/gifts).



> Beta'd by the fantastic leoben. First attempt at a Due South fic and indeed, a proper Supernatural one. Have tried my best to omit any Englishisms, except in the presence of Crowley.

Ray hammered on the door of his partner's apartment, paying no heed to the neighbours' comfort. If they could share the building with a wolf, they could tolerate this. “Fraser, get up.”

The door opened swiftly. “I am up, Ray.”

“We gotta- whaddya mean, you're up? It's 2:20 in the morning!”

“Yes Ray, you see, the idea that we need eight hours straight sleep is a fallacy. It's actually more beneficial to wake for an hour or so, so as-”

Ray held up his hands in surrender. “Look, whatever, I don't need your hippy Canadian whatever right now, we gotta get down to 87th.”

Fraser nodded, reaching for his jacket. “Right away.”

Ten minutes later, Fraser and Ray passed the sergeants who were trying valiantly to hold back those members of the public with gorier interests, nodding as they did so. Diefenbaker skulked after them, glaring at anyone who came within a three-foot radius of him.

“What's up with the wolf?” asked Ray.

“Oh, he's always grouchy when his sleep is disturbed.”

“He doesn't go for your waking up thing?”

“I tried to get him involved but he won't have it; he's stubborn like that. Wolves, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, wolves.” Ray agreed affably, his eyes the only betrayal of his bewilderment. He addressed one of the cops stood nearby. “So, what do we got?”

“Caucasian male, late teens,” he began, pulling back a sheet to reveal the body, which was wet from the drain running along the centre of the short alleyway. “Looks like a strangling. We found this next to him.”

“A purse.” stated Ray.

“Yeah, turns out the kid's a mugger.” The voice of Detective Huey rose above the clamour from the street. “Got a handful of witnesses say they saw him grab this broad's purse about a block and a half away, and she chased him here. Someone called it in, and we found the kid.”

“Hmm.” Fraser's brow creased slightly in thought as he moved away from the group to conduct his own examinations. This consisted, as far as Ray could fathom, of staring at walls and holding a conversation with a growling half-wolf. He shook his head and returned to Huey and Dewey. “We got an ID on purse lady?”

“Yeah, Gina Davis. Here's the kicker: everything's still in there; wallet, keys, makeup... lady things...” Dewey cleared his throat. “So I figure we go over to her place and get some answers.”

“Excuse me, Ray?” Ray followed his partner to where he was examining the high wall which blocked the end of the alley. “Several things strike me as peculiar about this case.”

“Oh is that so Fraser? Please, enlighten me, I'd really like to stay up the rest of the night chatting about how you found the wrong sort of maggots in the dumpster.”

“I've yet to examine the dumpster actually Ray, though I doubt it will wield strong results in this particular case. What I was referring to was the apparent victim of the young man's mugging.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hmm, you see, from the admittedly minimal examination I've been able to give the body at this time, I'd conclude that he wasn't strangled so much as having had his throat crushed, and possibly even his neck broken, with one hand by the looks of the markings. Now, this would be an extraordinary feat for most people, but particularly for anyone with small to average sized hands, as we can see the boy's attacker had.”

“So, what, this lady's a body builder?”

“Well, she would have to have considerable strength.. Am I right in thinking that no one saw her exiting the alley after chasing the young man here?”

“Hey!” Ray called to his colleagues. “Anyone see purse lady come back outta here?” After a few moments deliberation, a consensus of 'no' was reached.

“As I thought. If I may draw your attention Ray, I noticed these scuff marks on the rear wall here, which appear to have a trace of the same dirt and broken glass beneath our feet.”

“Fraser, this wall is over ten feet high, you think someone climbed it?”

“Oh no Ray, you see the first scuffmark is here, a little over six feet off the ground, I would imagine they jumped. Although...” the Mountie backed a little way down the alleyway. “It's quite a leap.”

Fraser ran full pelt at the wall and jumped, just managing to catch the top of the wall with his fingertips, his feet scrabbling at Ray's waist height. “Yes, that is quite incredible. However,” he looked around. “I can't see another way for her to have excited the alleyway that would explain these scuff marks.”

“Uh-huh. Well, while you figure that out, I'm gonna do some actual police work, like trying to figure out why the hell this lady chased the guy who stole her purse, killed him, but then left the purse here. I mean, if it was that important, she'd pick it up, right? Something about this stinks.”

“I'm glad you picked up on that Ray, Diefenbaker and I had noticed it too, and I must say it caused him considerable distress.”

“The wolf's bothered about the purse?”

“No. Well, yes, but he's more concerned about the smell.”

“The smell.”

“Yes, you can't smell it?”

“It's an alley Fraser, I'm doing everything I can not to smell it.”

“I understand your discomfort, but as well as the usual scents one may encounter in an alley, rotting garbage, bodily fluids -” Ray made a face. “There's also a strong smell of sulphur.”

“Sulphur?”

“Quite. I can't yet see a reason for it though.”

“OK, you work out why Chicago smells like rotting eggs, I need to get some coffee.”


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later a sleek black Impala drew to a halt outside the Chicago Police Department. Shortly afterwards – after a particular part of a song had finished – two tall, well-dressed men emerged and headed for the front desk, where the sergeant held up a finger to them as she tried to wrap up a phone call. “Sir, sir, this really isn't a police matter si- … if you have amnesia, go to the hospital. We can't help you. Goodbye.”

The boys smiled understandingly at her. “Hi, agents Osbourne and Butler.” greeted Dean, as they flashed the appropriate badges. “We're here about last night's incident.”

“You'll have to be more specific.”

“A body found in an alley, he'd been strangled?” asked Sam.

“Sure. That's an FBI case?” the sergeant asked, leading them back to the desks.

“It may be. Worth checking. You handling the case?” This was addressed to Ray, who was leaning over his desk rifling through stacks of paper, too embarrassed to admit that he'd forgotten what he was looking for. “Yeah, Ray Vecchio, whaddya need?”

“Agents Obsourne and Butler.” Badges. “You got a strangled mugger, that correct?”

“Yeah. Why's it an FBI case?” he asked, pleased at the distraction allowing him to leave the paperwork graveyard known as his desk and head back to Fraser in the interview room.

“Do you have any witnesses?” asked Sam, ignoring Ray's question as they followed him. Well, cops were used to that sort of thing from the Feds.

“We got a bunch of people saw him grab a lady's purse, she chased him into the alley, next thing we know he turns up dead.”

“She's your main suspect, then?”

“Yeah, we got her in here but she's giving us the old 'I don't remember anything' bit.”

“Anything unusual you can tell us about the case?” asked Dean, as Fraser joined them in the corridor, followed by Diefenbaker.

“Anyone behaving weirdly, any strange smells, cold spots, anything you can't explain?” suggested Sam.

“There were several peculiar things I noted.” replied Fraser, nodding in greeting.

“Hey I hate to break it to you pal, but you're the only one here in a costume.” joked Dean.

“He's Canadian.” said Ray flatly, knowing what was coming next.

“You're a real Mountie?”

“Yes, I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons which don't need exploring at this juncture, I have remained, attached as liaison to the Canadian consulate.”

Diefenbaker had been sniffing the two strange men, puzzled by them; despite their not-fur, they didn't seem quite like the penguin-men he'd encountered before, but he decided they were trustworthy enough for him to allow them near his master. The one that smelt like pie was uneasy about Dief sniffing him, so he moved to the one who smelt like soap and wagged his tail hopefully.

“Hey, is he yours?” asked Sam, bending down to pet the husky.

“As far as one can ever really own a wild animal, yes. He's half wolf, on his mother's side.”

“He's gorgeous.”

“He'll be glad to hear you say that, he's been having some self-esteem issues lately, which I think has been the cause of his stress eating, which in turn of course hasn't helped matters.”

“Uh-huh.” said Dean, eyeing the fluffy killing machine as his brother fussed it, and addressed the Mountie. “You mentioned something unusual?”

“Yes, several things. Firstly, the killer must have possessed immense strength, as the victim's throat was crushed and his neck broken with one hand. The circumstances surrounding our witness Ms. Davis' involvement appear mysterious, as several people witnessed her entering the alleyway but no one saw her leave; which leads me to assume that the marks on the alley's high rear wall are from her leaping to jump over it, without the purse she'd valiantly pursued the mugger for, unlikely as that may appear. Also there's the sulphur, which although it has several common uses, I can't yet find a suitable explanation for it's scent being present at the crime scene.”

The Winchesters exchanged glances. “Sulphur, huh? Well thank you, Mr...?”

“Fraser, sir, Constable Benton Fraser.”

“Agents Osbourne and Butler.” Badges. “May we s-”

“I'm sorry, may I just see those again?” Fraser enquired innocently.

“..Huh?”

“Your badges, may I take another look?” Sam and Dean looked at each other. “I believe you are legally obliged to satisfactorily identify yourselves.”

Apprehensively, the boys drew their badges once more.

“Ah, as I thought. Thank you, gentlemen.” Fraser turned to Ray. “I'm afraid these men are imposters, Ray.”

“Hey-” began Dean, his spectacularly poor bluffing skills gearing up for another glimpse of embarrassing daylight as Sam looked around for an escape route.

“You mean they aren't real FBI?”

“No, I had wondered about their cheap suits-” Dean in particular looked offended “- and a closer inspection of their badges has revealed them to be fake. Not particularly good fakes, but with a quick enough glimpse and the right demeanour they don't need to be.”

“Great. Turn around, face the wall. I'm arresting you for impersonating-”

“Hold on a moment please Ray.” The interruption came as a glimmer of hope to Dean, who was keen not to be arrested but considered punching a cop in a police station then trying to make a run for it to probably be a bad move.

“They've committed a crime, Fraser!”

“Yes I know, but I don't believe these men have any malevolent intent, and indeed appear to have a genuine interest in the case.”

“That's right!” Sam piped up, hoping it was safe for him to now turn from the wall. “We're reporters, junior reporters, with the local Herald.” Dean nodded. “We're really sorry that we did this, but we thought if we could get in here, find out something no-one else knows, it'd give us an edge; you know, really impress our editor.”

“Impersonating members of the federal government is a serious offence, not to mention wasting police time.”

“Yeah!” chimed in Ray aggressively, utterly failing to intimidate Dean.

“Again, we're really sorry, we promise it won't happen again. We'll even drop the story.” pleaded Sam.

“Very well.” Fraser apprehended a passing sergeant. “Please escort these men from the building. Thank you.”

“Don't let me see you round here again!” Called Ray, recovering from exasperation at his partner's behaviour before turning to Fraser. “I suppose you have a good reason for letting them go?”

“Yes Ray, I felt that their intent, if not their actions, were genuine. In fact, I-” Fraser appeared to change his mind about saying something. “I feel that in this case, prosecution would be beneficial to no one.”

Ray walked off, muttering about crazy Mountie senses as Fraser turned in the direction the two men had gone, a faintly puzzled frown on his face.

 

* * *

 

“Well, that was a bust.” said Dean, squaring his shoulders and swaggering back to the car.

“At least we know it's a demon – sulphur, super strength... can you imagine what it would take to crush someone's spine with one hand?”

“Yeah, and it's a demon we can't get to, because that freaking Mountie busted our disguise.” Complained Dean as they climbed into the Impala and started the engine.

“But if what the cop said was true and she can't remember anything, it sounds like the demon's no longer possessing her anyway.”

“Yeah, damn thing could be anywhere. Hell, it could even still be in her just pretending not to know anything, and we've got no way of telling unless we can get in there and check it out.”

“We could always bust in later, once everyone's gone?”

“It's a city police station Sam, it doesn't exactly close at suppertime.”

“Well, cleaning staff then. People won't pay any attention if we look like we're supposed to be there.”

“I guess it's all we've got. At least that damn ninja Mountie won't be there.”

* * *

 

 

Some time later, the same ninja Mountie was patiently waiting for the chiming of the clock to indicate that his guard duty was complete. This being established, he headed inside to find Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull surrounded by boxes in one of the display rooms.

“Ah, Fraser,” said Thatcher, holding a large box and appearing pleased to see him. The reason for this became clear when Fraser observed Turnbull elbow-deep in white packing material and whistling Christmas carols. “Put this in your office, would you?”

“Certainly, sir” He replied, relieving her of the box and finding it to be heavier than he'd anticipated. “May I ask what's going on?”

“We've got a new exhibit coming in on Inuit mythology. It's only for a week, but we need the room. I'll need you here Friday evening for the opening event, in full dress uniform.”

“Of course.” Fraser nodded and left them to it.

“You're too soft, Son.” Bob Fraser announced as his son entered his office and nearly dropping the box in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“Using your room as storage space. A man's room is his kingdom, it doesn't do to be cluttered with junk.”

“Dad, some of the items in the consulate displays are extremely valuable,” he replied, choosing to omit the fact that some were considerably less valuable in the wake of Constable Turnbull's cleaning endeavours. “They are not junk. Anyway, I have plenty of room for them.”

Fraser opened the closet door and placed the box in his father's log cabin. “See?”

“Oh yes, I see, very good.” Bob grumbled, “What is it that's so important that I've got to have messy boxes in my private space?”

“An exhibit on Inuit mythology.” replied Fraser, preoccupied as he organised notes on his desk.

“Mythology.” scoffed Bob. “Load of nonsense.”

“You're a ghost, Dad.”

“So I should know.”

“Is there something that's bothering you?” asked Fraser, knowing that he'd get no peace until his father had spoken his mind.

“I'm uneasy, Son. There's something not right in the air out here these past couple of days. A funny smell.”

“My office is _smelly_?”

“Not just here, everywhere out here. It's fine back in there,” he nodded to the cabin. “Fresh mountain air. But out here smells like bad eggs.”

“..Like sulphur?” asked Fraser, memories of the morning's crime scene returning to him.

“Yes, that's it. You smell it too?”

“Not here, I smelt it this morning at a crime scene; it's been bothering me all day.”

“It's a nasty smell alright.” agreed Bob.

“Not just that, I can't work out why it would be there, and the whole case feels like we're missing something important.”

He outlined events to his father, who nodded pensively when he'd finished.

“And you've spoken to her?”

“Well, yes, Ray was kind enough to grant me a few minutes, but that's just it; while they have enough evidence to convict her, I just don't think she did it.”

“You are a very trusting man, Son..”

“But it still doesn't make sense. The only motive we could see she'd have was stealing the handbag, so why leave it?”

“Maybe it wasn't the handbag that mattered.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, if there was something in there which was important, maybe she didn't care about the rest.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sam wriggled uncomfortably as he and Dean meandered through the station, stopping here and there to dust or mop as necessary.

“I told you these overalls would be too small.”

“Quit bitching about it, this ain't Milan.” Dean muttered, trying to remember which direction they'd been taken that morning.

“It pinches.”

“Yeah? Well until you start sounding like Alvin the chipmunk, you're gonna have to deal with it. This way.”

They headed down yet another pale green corridor, one with a slightly more eccentric gait than the other. Dean stuck his head around a corner, and nodded the all-clear to Sam.

They were about to start investigating the cells when they were startled by a male voice coming from the nearest door. Thinking it to be a cop, they hurriedly began to clean, until Dean realised that the voice sounded familiar. He snapped back the window to see a dark-haired man in a black suit looking with disinterest at Ms Davis, who'd clearly had the shock of her life (which recently had been far from uneventful) when a suave Englishman had appeared in front of her. “Crowley!”

The briefest, most minute tensing of muscles indicated that the King of Hell had been surprised, but he played it cool. “Hello boys.” he drawled, not yet turning around. “You in town?”

“What the hell are you doing here?!” exclaimed Dean.

“Leave her alone!” his more sensitive brother demanded

“She's no good to me anyway, she's empty.” He clicked his fingers and froze her in mid hysterical sob, turning to face Sam and Dean. “I'm here because someone's got something I want. But he's buggered off to a different meat suit and taken it with him.”

“All this is thanks to you and your damn deals?”

“I haven't got a bloody deal yet if that git's gone back into hiding!” Crowley thought for a moment. “Nah.. he's desperate enough to try once. Sorry boys,” he addressed the baffled Winchesters. “Business elsewhere.”

Crowley clicked his fingers and teleported out of the cell, leaving Sam and Dean to look at each other and Gina, and make the decision to run for it.

* * *

 

 

Turnbull was humming happily to himself as he neatened blank paper at the reception desk of the Canadian Consulate's entrance hall, when he became aware of a pair of feet. He was pleased to find them attached to a person by conventional standards, and greeted him pleasantly. “Good evening sir! I'm afraid the consulate is closed for the day, but we'll be open first thing tomorrow!” He stood. “In the meantime, if I could possibly direct you to our door...”

Turnbull's visitor, a blonde man in his forties, drawn in the face and unshaven, waved a hand and Turnbull found himself lifted through the air and held fast against the wall. “Oh.. my.”

The man turned away, only to jump back as another man, shorter, in a dark suit, appeared suddenly in front of him. “Wh-! ..Crowley?!”

“Hello Eligius. Thought we'd chat.”

Eligius backed away. “What do you want?”

“What you want.” replied Crowley calmly. “It's here already I suppose, or you wouldn't have come.”

He began to wander, looking through doorways to find a likely spot for what he sought. “But, I was hoping I could change your mind. Give it - both parts – to me. And I can offer you any protection you need.”

“How do I know you won't just kill me?”

“Eligius, please, I'm an honest guy. I was King of the Crossroads! I don't go back on deals.”

“I heard you're King of Hell now.” Eligius said nervously.

Crowley had found a likely-looking room and was picking his way through a well-packed box. “That's right. Think of the power there, eh? When it gets out the King Of Hell's on your side... no one's gonna come after you.”

“That's still not as much protection as this.”

The King Of Hell raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not. But come on, you don't need this sorta power to hit back against a few poxy demons.”

“And what would you do with it?”

“Many great things.” Crowley replied, examining an ancient vase but finding it to be of little interest and tossing it over his shoulder, where it cracked on the floor.

“Oh, excuse me, please be careful, that was very valuable.” called Turnbull, experiencing a rapid recovery from his shock when struck with the thought of what Inspector Thatcher would say if she returned to find anything broken.

Crowley appeared to notice the constable for the first time, and jerked a thumb towards him. “Who's this?”

“My name is Constable Renfield Turnbull. I'm pleased at your interest in our displays but I would ask that-”

“I'm looking for something that was delivered this morning, very small. You lot probably have no idea what it is.”

“I'm afraid that exhibit doesn't open until-”

Crowley allowed his eyes to flash their demon red. “Where. Is it.”

Turnbull's trembling finger was enough for Eligius, who darted towards the back offices in pursuit of power. Crowley sighed, and teleported, after him. With both demons gone, Turnbull was finally able to rediscover gravity.

“Perhaps I ought to have mentioned before; I won't break the deal by killing you, but I _will_ kill you if you don't take the deal.”

“Why not just kill me now and take it yourself?”

“Because I'm not daft enough to think you're stupid. You don't have the the other half with you. So, give me both, I'll look after you, and no one will have their heart cut out with a spoon. At least, not either of us, anyw-”

Crowley was interrupted by Eligius swinging a heavy wooden chair at him. He ducked the worst of it but was caught and knocked aside by a stray leg. As Eligius darted past, Crowley reflected that this wasn't the first time his tendency to rely on talking his way out of problems had been a downfall against those of a dim and violent nature. He scrambled up and followed Eligius, finding the demon rummaging through yet more carefully packed boxes. _Place looks like a bloody moving van._

“It'll be no good to you dead.” Crowley threatened, his dark eyes flashing momentarily red again as power crackled around his fingertips. He did enjoy the theatricals.

“And it'll be no good to you without the other half.” said Eligius, eyes gleaming as he retrieved what he'd spent so long waiting for. “You'll never find it.”

“You'd be surprised at how good I am at getting what I want. Hand it over. I'll give you all you need.” Crowley smiled charmingly. “Last chance.”

Eligius laughed. “You're pathetic.”

Crowley growled and lunged at him, all powers forgotten in his fury. Eligius pulled a leather bag from his scruffy jacket and threw it at Crowley's feet, the liquid inside setting solid in an instant and gluing Crowley's feet to the ground as Eligius legged it.

“Bollocks!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just watched last night's ep (Road Trip) eeeeeeee much excitement. Lots of good Crowleyedge makes for a happy author. But just in case that wasn't enough, there's a little more in this chapter. You lucky people.

Ray strode into the Canadian Consulate, awash with blue light from the squad car parked outside.

“Hey Fraser, what's going on?”

Fraser turned from where he was standing over Turnbull, who sat drinking cocoa with a blanket around his shoulders. “I'm afraid I'm unclear on that, Turnbull here appears to have suffered a head trauma; he's been talking about magic and being stuck halfway up the walls.”

“So how do you know there's anything wrong?”

“Very funny Ray. I am concerned though; from what I can make out, two men entered the consulate, were interested in our new exhibit, fought, one of them stole a part of the exhibit and left, the other left shortly afterwards.”

“Uh-huh. So, this whatjamajig they stole, it valuable?”

“No, strangely enough. There were many more valuable items they could have taken, they appeared to be specifically interested in this piece, which, expense aside, is odd, as we're not even too sure what it is; it was uncovered not long ago and will be delivered to the Toronto University for study once the exhibit is finished.”

“So they took something worthless that no one has a use for.”

“Broadly speaking, I suppose so. I would still very much like to get it back though, so anything you can do...”

“Sure, sure. So,” Ray guided Fraser away from the hunched figure of Turnbull. “He get a good look at these guys, or is he too...” Ray twirled his forefinger at his temple, a gesture which Fraser correctly took to mean 'crazy.'

“No, he's managed to provide quite a good description despite difficult circumstances, so I've made these sketches,” Fraser produced two remarkably detailed drawings. “In order to help you with your search.”

Ray was examining them, impressed, when one of the cops who'd been examining the evidence reported that they'd done all they could and were heading back to the station.

“Thank you very much gentlemen.” Smiled Fraser, then addressing Ray. “I think I'll send constable Turnbull home to rest and stay here myself to keep an eye on things.”

As the cops shuffled out and Fraser put Turnbull in a cab, Ray looked up from playing with the stuffed maple leaf on Turnbull's desk to see the two fake FBI agents from that morning entering. From the looks on their faces, they both recognised him too, but persevered.

“Hey, I thought I told you not to let me see you again!”

“You told us not to let you see us at the police station again. Technically now you're seeing us in Canada.” assured the taller of the two.

“Yeah, we were just passing by and saw the lights, thought it might be a story for us.” The blonde guy shrugged, with an arrogance Ray disliked.

“It's just a break-in. If you want a statement about it just call the station later and-”

“Is everything OK, Ray?” Fraser interrupted, having reappeared at Ray's elbow.

“Yeah, our two con artist reporters here wanted to write a story about your mystery thieves. I was just telling them we don't need them messing up the investigation.”

“Actually gentlemen, I would be very grateful if you could run a short account of events.” Sam scrambled to find a notebook as behind Fraser, Ray sighed at Fraser yet again contradicting him. The worst thing was that he was so damned polite about it. “Two men, of whom I could provide you with sketches if required, entered the consulate, argued, and one appears to have escaped with a part of our new exhibit. We're not certain yet of the other man's involvement, but he left shortly afterwards. Any information the public can provide would be most gratefully received.”

“And was there anything unusual about these two guys, or the thing they took?” asked Dean before Ray could shoo them out. “You know, any strange behaviour, distinguishing features, they speak any funny languages...”

“To raise public interests.” Sam quickly covered for his brothers' utter lack of subtlety. “Give people more to talk about.”

“Well, out witness has described a few remarkable things, but we're treating them as a result of shock and concussion.”

“Remarkable like what?”

“I really don't think-”

“Yeah neither do I.” Snapped Ray, getting fed up and chivvying the two towards the door. “If people want to talk about it they can come down to the station. Come on, get ou-”

Ray stopped suddenly at the sight of a man appearing from thin air in front of him, short, well-dressed and angry looking. Ray shoved Sam and Dean aside and drew his gun on the intruder, not quite having believed what he'd seen but recognising him from Fraser's sketch.“Woah, hands in the air! Hands in the air, I'll shoot!”

The man looked witheringly at him, but raised both hands.

“Boys,” he addressed the other two. “We've got trouble.”

“Damn straight we've got trouble, it's standing right in front of me!” yelled the shorter of the two, from the floor.

“What do you want, Crowley?” the other asked..

The demon opened his mouth but was interrupted by Ray, still freaking out about suited apparitions in the Canadian Consulate but cop instincts intact. “You three know each other? Up against the wall, all of you, now! Move, move, get going!”

They shuffled into a line with the newest, Crowley, in the middle. All three looked unhappy with this arrangement.

“Fraser, frisk 'em would ya?”

Fraser moved forwards, followed by Diefenbaker, who growled at Crowley until he turned his attention to the wolf and growled back. Dief whined and backed off, head and tail low. Observing this, Fraser sidled up to his partner. “I'm not sure that-”

“Just do it!”

“Very well.”

The Mountie's search produced a startled pair of eyebrows, an interested smirk, a gun and an unusually shaped knife. Crowley appeared to carry no weapons.

“Can we get-” began Crowley

“Hey, hey, who's the cop here, huh? Who are you? How'd you appear like that?”

“My name's Sam, this is my brother Dean.” explained the tall one.

“We're hunters.” grunted Dean.

“Hunters, huh?” scoffed Ray. “What're you doing in Chicago huh? You hunting rats?”

“We're demon hunters.” said Sam earnestly. “Everything you were told didn't exist, everything you couldn't explain.. that's where we come in.”

“Your kid in the alley? Demon got him.” added Dean. “They're strong sons of bitches and they leave traces of sulphur, which is what you smelled. We're trying to find out what it's doing and where it's gone so we can stop it.”

“Uh-huh. Right. And what about this guy, huh, he your butler?”

Crowley stepped forward threateningly, but stopped as Ray raised his gun again. “I'm King of Hell.”

“Oh _you're_ King of Hell. Tell me, is due to freeze over any time soon? I got a date with this girl...”

“Actually Ray, taking into account this man's sudden appearance, the circumstances of the original crime, Ms Davies' insistence that a strange Englishman appearing suddenly in her cell, and reviewing Constable Turnbull's report of events here, I'm inclined to believe them.”

Crowley regarded the Mountie. “Friend of yours, Moose?” He asked Sam, getting an eyeroll in return. “He's quicker off the mark though. But then I'd expect that, with that ghost on your shoulder.”

Fraser turned sharply, to see his father stood behind him in long pyjamas. “Ghost?! Where?”

“You can see him?” asked Fraser, puzzled.

“Oh yes,” Crowley replied lightly, as Ray shook his head, laughing.

“Oh no no no, no way, nuh-uh. There's no ghosts, no demons, no boogiemen,-”

Crowley sighed impatiently, and with a flick of his hand Ray's gun flew out of his grasp and the cop was lifted four feet into the air. Crowley allowed his eyes to turn red as he teleported back and forth across the room. “I haven't got time for demonology for Muggles!” the King of Hell spat. “We've got problems, Eligius has got both parts of the amulet and soon he'll be coming for me!”

“So?” Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, that's really not our problem.” Agreed Sam.

“It'll be your bloody problem when he starts coming after humans as well!” Bellowed Crowley, finally losing his rag and throwing the Winchesters against a wall. “You think he'll stop with me? He'll be after all of you! If you help me when can stop him now!”

“Oh yeah, and why should we believe you, huh? What if you're just gonna use us to trade with the other guy for this whadjamajig?” asked Dean, staggering to his feet.

“And what exactly do you think he'd want with you, you pillock? He's been in hiding for a hundred and fifty years!”

As the three of them argued, Fraser approached his partner, who was still floating in mid-air. “Are you alright up there, Ray?”

“Oh yeah I'm just peachy, Fraser. Ghosts and demons are real and the King of Hell has turned me into a balloon.”

“I'm glad you're taking things so well.”

Ray let this go. “What about you, huh, you just accepted it right away?”

“Well, I have pondered the existence of beings outside our understanding a great many times, and there are many stories from cultures all over the world about the actions of demons and ghosts..”

“What about this ghost he mentioned? You being haunted now?”

“Actually Ray, for some time now..” Fraser cleared his throat. “Hmm, this is a little awkward. Since shortly after my arrival in Chicago, I appear to have been haunted by the ghost of my father.”

“'Haunted' is such a negative word son, I really would prefer you say visited.” said Bob from underneath the desk, where he was comforting a still-whimpering Diefenbaker.

“And you never thought to bring this up.”

“Well, I wasn't sure you'd believe me.”

“Huh.”

A few feet away, Crowley was exasperated by the Winchesters' mistrust. “Why does everyone think I'm going to immediately kill them to get what I want? Do you know how bad for business that is? I can't get repeat custom if my customers are dead! Well, not most of the time, anyway.”

Sam's reply was cut short as the sound of wings echoed through the room, and Castiel stood before them.

“Oh great, now Columbo's here. You a demon too?” Asked Ray.

“I am an angel of the Lord.” replied Castiel. He surveyed the scene, brow furrowed at the strange collection of people.

“Hello Benton.” he greeted Fraser.

“Good evening, Castiel.”

“You two know each other?!” asked Dean and Ray in disbelieving union.

“I have a life outside you, Dean.” replied Castiel as Fraser explained that he and Castiel had met a few times, though he was previously unaware that the latter was an angel.

“Hello Angel.” Crowley grinned. “Come to join our little soirée?”

“Are you here for the same reason I am?” Castiel replied.

“Eligius, yeah?”

He frowned. “Eligius?”

“He's loose.”

“And for those of us not tuned in to psychic FM?” interrupted Dean.

“The Fetish of Kratos has been activated.” said Castiel by way of explanation, turning his attention to Ray. “Why is this man suspended?”

“Oh, sorry.” Crowley snapped his fingers, causing Ray to plummet to the floor with a yell, saved at the last moment by a gesture from Castiel.

“Spoilsport.” sulked the demon.

“There appears to be quite a lot of confusion here.” said Fraser, stepping forward and addressing Crowley and Castiel. “Perhaps one of you two could furnish us with a full explanation?”

“Go ahead, Angel” said Crowley. “I'll just demon ward this place before we're all slaughtered, shall I?”

He began rummaging through the desk drawers, eventually finding a marker pen with a troll figure on the end, and was about to begin scrawling on the walls when Fraser interrupted.

“If you're going to be using that on the walls, might I ask that we go into my office instead? It wouldn't be fitting for the consulate entrance to be covered in graffiti.”

“Oh yes, I can see how you'd be worried about the décor when THERE'S A DEMON TRYING TO KILL US!”

“Trying to kill _you_.” muttered Dean.

Furious, Crowley raised Dean into the air and choked him with a squeeze of his fist.

“Woah!” Ray yelled, aiming his gun at the demon once more. “Put him down!”

“Guns don't kill demons you moron!”

“Oh yeah? Why'd you raise your hands last time then?”

“Because I've already had a pair of shoes ruined today, I don't want bullet holes in my best suit!”

“Crowley.” Castiel warned. Lights flashed and bulbs shattered as his skin glowed and the shadow of his wings spread across the wall. “Put him down.”

“What's the matter Cas, don't like it when someone else plays with your boy?” The angel's chest swelled with anger. “Fine. _I'll_ go and hide. Do call me when you're done with the plot exposition, won't you?”

With a click of his fingers, the King of Hell vanished and Dean fell to the floor, gasping for breath. “Son of a bitch!”

“Crowley!” shouted Sam. “Dammit.”

“It's better that he's gone.” said Castiel. “If Eligius is truly after Crowley, we have more time if he's hiding elsewhere.”

“Is someone going to finally explain what the hell's going on here?” Asked Ray. “I thought we had an ordinary – if a little smelly-” he added in response to Fraser clearing his throat. “Murder-in-an-alley. Now we got angels and demons all over the place!”

“Several powerful demons have been murdered by another demon wearing the Fetish of Kratos.”

“The what of who?” Asked Ray.

“The Fetish of Kratos.”

Dean, Sam and Ray chuckled. “What, this thing's been killing people dressed in latex and a whip?”

As Castiel frowned, Fraser interjected “Actually the word fetish, as well as the usage with which you are clearly familiar, can also refer to objects, worshipped for their perceived magical properties.”

“So this fetish-” asked Sam, ignoring Dean's giggle. “-is some sort of object?”

“It's an amulet, named for the Greek personification of strength, which grants the wearer immense power, much more than they would naturally possess even as a demon or an angel.” Explained Castiel, relieved that the conversation had returned to an area with which he was familiar. “It was determined to be too dangerous that any being possess such power, even with the purpose of doing good – so it was separated and hidden. Apart, the two pieces appear quite mundane, it would take an expert eye to recognise them.”

“So some demon's gotten hold of this thing and we're all screwed.”

“Eligius must have been holding on to the fetish's other half for a long time. The fact that he was able to identify both pieces really is.. quite impressive.” Castiel said appreciatively.

“Start your fansite later Cas, what's the deal with this Eligius? I'm guessing he's the same demon who killed that mugger?”

“Eligius was a low-level demon, quite young, who betrayed some other demons and left them to die. I am unclear on the details, but they tore Hell and Earth apart looking for him, to no avail.”

“So what, now he's got the fetish he's going after them?”

“That would be my guess.”  
“Crowley said he'd be coming for humans too.” said Fraser.

“Right, we need a plan to stop this son of a bitch. Cas, any ideas on how to destroy this amulet thing?”

“I don't know that it can be destroyed – it would certainly prove difficult to get close enough when it's being worn.”

“Great. Well, we're gonna have to come up with something, crack some books, Cas-”

“I'll make my own inquiries.” The angel disappeared in a rush of wings.

“Right, if we're gonna be here a while I'll need to eat something. Any good places round here?” Dean asked the two Chicago residents.

“Yes actually, if you turn left outside there's a wonderful little French restau-”

“Nuh-uh Fraser, we are not taking this study group to Chez Snob, Tom's burger joint is two blocks east, best meat in town.”

Dean took a list of orders and was nearly in the car when Ray, struck with terror at the sight of Sam's text-filled laptop screen and the pile of books being selected by Fraser, dashed after him.

“So, did you two come down together, or what?” asked Dean, trying to make conversation with the cop after feeling that they might have gotten off on the wrong foot. Impersonating members of the FBI could do that to people for some reason.

“Huh?”

“Did you come down with Fraser from Canada, or did you just happen to meet up here?”

Ray looked at him strangely. “I'm not Canadian. I'm from Chicago.”

“You're kidding me, right?” Ray shook his head. “You're totally Canadian. You've gotta be. You're the most Canadian person I've ever met, including him, and he's wearing a freaking Mountie outfit!”

Ray shrugged uncomfortably and Dean rolled his eyes away, thankful that the drive was so short.

When they returned to the consulate they were greeted by nods from Sam and Fraser, and excited yapping from Diefenbaker, who jumped up hoping that the pair had brought him his daily requirement of deep-fried offerings.

Pushing the wolf aside, Dean asked if they'd found anything.

“Not a lot. A few mentions of it, but only one got even slightly specific, nothing on how to get rid of the thing. I called Bobby, who said he'd look into it.”

“Uh-huh. Well, when in line at the burger place – which was _amazing_ , by the way – Crowley called back, wanting to know if we'd found anything yet. And also to tell us that if we get him killed because we're, I quote, stuffing our bloody gobs, he'll feed us to his hellhound.”

“How would he do that if our actions get him killed?” enquired Fraser.

“Dunno, he hung up when I asked.”

They picked their way through books and burgers, only the latter being of any interest to Dean, who told his brother to keep an eye out for more cases in Chicago so they could visit again. He was just getting into a list of the best places to eat when Sam's phone rang.

“Hey Bobby.” Sam hit speakerphone and placed his cell in the middle of the table.

“Hey kid. You two sure picked yourselves a doozy this time.”

“You can't find anything either?”

“I found something alright, but I ain't sure you're gonna like it.”

Bob Fraser had reappeared in his pyjamas, and was picking his way through the remains of their meal, making enquiries Fraser felt unable to respond to while the others discussed something called 'ganking' with their friend.

“Hey, I know that voice! That's uh..” He clicked his fingers, trying to remember. “Bobby Singer! Used to come up hunting. Hey, Son, say hello from me.”

“But you're dead, Dad.” Fraser muttered.

“Doesn't mean one can't be courteous Son, go on.”

Fraser sighed and cleared his throat. “Excuse me sir, but is your name Bobby Singer?”

“Yeah..” came a hesitant reply.

“My name is Benton Fraser sir, I'm assisting your friends here, and I believe you once knew my father, Bob Fraser?”

A pause, then, “The Mountie?”

“That's correct.”

“Yeah, I knew him. Good man. How is he?”

“I'm afraid he's dead sir, but his ghost sends his regards.”

“His what?”

“His ghost.”

“That's right Singer!” said Bob cheerfully. “Bet you weren't expecting that, you old drunk!”

A crackling on the line was enough for Bobby to believe that there was indeed some sort of spiritual presence in the room. “Do you wanna exorcise him, or...?”

“Oh no, he's quite happy, thank you. He merely asked that I say hello to you for him.”

“Ah, well, hello Bob, glad you're.. happy. If you ever wanna be on your way you just have your son contact me or the boys here, be happy to see you right.”

“Much appreciated, Bobby.” the ghost nodded.

“He's grateful for that.” Fraser informed the group.

Ray sat shaking his head. “Geez, I thought you knew everyone in Chicago, turns out you just know everyone!”

“Well Ray, it's really my father who-”

Dean cleared his throat. “ANYWAY. Thanks Bobby, we'll get onto Cas and see if we can't work out a plan.”

“I'd say lemme know how it goes but if this thing really is all that I guess I'll find out one way or another. See ya, boys.”

After a chorus of goodbyes, Sam hung up and they set about planning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *chapter contains some violence but I think no more than would usually be seen in SPN*

A little over an hour later, Fraser returned to the consulate, carefully carrying a covered jar.

“Good, you're back.” Sam said, from the table where he and Ray were packing up duffel bags. “Dean's bringing the car around. We're meeting Cas and Crowley there.”

“Where are we going?”

“You know that old warehouse behind Macclesons?” replied Ray. “They said somewhere empty no one would care about getting busted up, so..”

A honk from the outside indicated that Dean had arrived. He watched them traipse down the steps and begin loading the car. “Woah, hold up.”

“What's wrong?”

“That.” He pointed to Diefenbaker, who cocked his head to one side. “No dogs in the car.”

“Dean..” Sam began.

“I can assure you Diefenbaker is quite accustomed to travelling in cars.” said Fraser.

“No offence to the wolf, OK, but I don't want claw marks and drool all over my back seat.”

“I'm happy to compensate you for any damage incurred; I would leave him here but he's proved invaluable at apprehending people in the past, and since you said any additional help...”

“Yeah, yeah, all hands on deck. Fine, but if he's sick back there I'm suing Canada.”

They set off, Dean grumbling as Dief panted contentedly from the back seat, wondering where they were going and hoping it was for ice cream. The grand architecture and busy area of the consulate gave way to squat buildings and dark streets populated by rats and litter.

At Ray's direction, Dean pulled to a halt outside a large warehouse, walls peppered with unintelligible graffiti, and half the windows smashed. Inside, broken pallets and piles of wire were arranged in haphazard piles, decorated by empty bottles and old blankets, evidence of refuge from parents and the elements.

Dean struck a flare and looked around. “OK, we'll get a space cleared here, I'll call Cas and-”

A sudden rustle of wings heralded Castiel's arrival. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas, buddy, you get it?”

“I did.” The angel held up something long and thin wrapped in a cloth.

“Great, we'll get set up then call Crowley.”

“Actually-” began Castiel.

“We came together.” said a voice behind Dean, causing him to start and spin around in surprise.

“Dammit, don't _do_ that!”

“What's the matter? Rather have the angel behind you?” Crowley grinned. The others chose to ignore this, and set about making a large space. “This your plan then, is it?” He asked, taking in his surroundings. “Invite Eligius to a rave and hope he ODs?”

“That's plan B.” said Sam. “For now, Bobby found a way for us to destroy the amulet, but we need to get in close.”

“What on earth makes you think a power-crazed demon is going to stop in here? You got a crate of Scooby snacks?”

“We pretty much figured once you came out of wherever you were hiding, he'd follow you.”

“I'm _bait?!_ ” Crowley said, appalled. “Oh, triffic. If only you'd said, I'd have brought my hula costume. What are Pinky and Perky doing here, providing entrees?”

“No, but you can eat me.” replied Ray, with what he was alone in thinking to be wit.

“You're not quite to my tastes. What happens when Eligius arrives?”

“If he's as strong as you say, we'll have no chance, so you and Cas take him on, we'll be ready for our part.”

With the room cleared and the plan laid out for Crowley and Castiel, they didn't have long to wait. Ray's knees had begun to cramp up where he and Fraser – who annoyingly appeared to be quite comfortable – were crouched out of harm's way when Crowley, who'd been positioned in clear view and appearing rather bored, looked up. A man had materialised at the edge of the circle of flares they'd arranged, about ten feet from where Crowley stood.

“I can't imagine you're stupid enough to come out here thinking that you can talk your way out of me killing you.”

“Not at all. I've come here to kill you.”

Eligius laughed. Ray noticed that light appeared to shrink into him, while the rounded amulet on his chest emitted a soft red glow. “What, you and your cowering humans? I'll wipe them out.”

“Not me and the humans. Me and my guardian angel.”

Castiel appeared behind Eligius and stabbed upwards with the angel blade. Eligius twisted, the knife only scratching him, but distraction was sufficient for Dean to toss the jar of stag's blood Fraser had procured earlier to Crowley, who splashed it over Eligius when the demon turned back to him.

“Was that supposed to achieve something?” Eligius asked, flinging Castiel across the room and lifting Crowley into the air, something that the King of Hell attempted, but was unable, to fight against.

“Call it payback for my favourite shoes.” he gasped, struggling for air.

As things were going downhill, Dean elected to add himself to the body count, running at Eligius with the dark shaft of wood that Castiel had provided. Eligius threw Crowley to collide with Dean, the wood clattering towards Fraser, Ray and Diefenbaker.

“Dean!” yelled Sam, standing from his hiding place across the room.

“Not _yet_!” insisted Crowley, pushing the unconscious Winchester off of him and starting towards Eligius, who was fighting Castiel; a task he appeared to be engaged in more for amusement than necessity of survival.

Ray, feeling a need to do something helpful, fired a couple of rounds at Eligius, to no effect. “Hey, for future reference, when I shoot you, you're supposed to fall down!”

Eligius sent Castiel soaring into a wall, knocking him out, and turned to face Crowley again as Ray whispered to Fraser “I'm gonna get the stick, distract him.”

“Ray, I'm not sure-”

“Fraser, they're losing!” he hissed, edging closer to the stick as the Mountie sought a way of distracting the demon who now had Crowley pinned to a pillar by a hand clasped around his throat.

“How did you ever think you stood a chance at beating me? Four humans, a broken angel and a pathetic waste like you.”

“I'm King.” spat Crowley.

“You're nothing but a big mouth in a sharp suit who got to sit on the daddy chair.”

As Crowley impotently raged at this, Fraser stepped up to Eligius. “You forgot the wolf.”

“What-” Diefenbaker launched himself at Eligius, sinking his teeth into his neck and causing him to drop Crowley, who sank to the floor. Wresting with his fanged attacker was enough of a distraction for Ray to strike the amulet.

“Moose!” yelled Crowley, throat hoarse.

Eligius threw off Diefenbaker to look at the less hairy of his two assailants. “Elder elm?” He punched Ray hard enough to send the cop flying through a spray of his own blood towards Castiel, who stirred and began to climb to his feet. “Pathe-”

Sam clicked a lighter into flame, spraying hairspray through it towards Eligius and igniting the demon. The amulet, soaked in stag's blood and struck with elder elm, glowed in the fire before shattering. Castiel snatched up the angel blade and sunk it into the back of the stunned demon before it could escape.

Fraser frowned as he watched the body drop. “Was it absolutely necessary to kill him? I would have liked to have questioned him about our alley murder.”

“If I hadn't have killed him then he'd have returned to Hell, or gone back into hiding. It's better this way.”

“He'd have to be pretty bloody stupid to go down to Hell.” grumbled Crowley, heaving himself to his feet and inspecting his bloodstained and tattered suit as Castiel moved off to heal Dean, Ray and Diefenbaker.

The King of Hell regarded Fraser, who was stood by politely, arms behind his back. “Nice work. Better than these so-called experts.”

“Thank you kindly.” He nodded, then looked a little conflicted. “So, you're.. King of Hell?”

“That's right.” Crowley brushed some dust from his shoulder.

“But you're good?”

Crowley laughed, suddenly, the sound ringing around the cavernous building. “I'm good at being King of Hell.”

“But Sam and Dean-”

“He's useful.” said Dean bitterly, limping over with Sam at his side. Castiel was crouched in front of a sitting Diefenbaker, appearing to be listening intently.

“Better the demon you know, eh boys?” Crowley grinned. “Well, this was fun. Let's do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, like we're rushing to do you any more favours.”

“Pardon? _You_ doing _me_ a favour?”

“Yeah, the favour of saving your sorry ass.”

With better eyesight, they might have seen Crowley falter for a moment; he greatly preferred to be owed than owing. “You were pre-warned of a threat and went in prepared. Favour repaid.” he said coolly. “Do let me know if you need help again, won't you? Keep in touch.” he added to Fraser with a wink, before vanishing.

“Jackass.” muttered Ray and Dean together.

Castiel joined them as they headed out, Diefenbaker at his heels, wagging his tail gently. “The wolf asks that if we're all finished, could we stop for ice cream?” Dief woofed gently. “And pie.”

Dean nodded appreciatively. “Good call.”

* * *

 

 

Dean munched heartily on his cherry pie, his enthusiasm met only by Diefenbaker, who was merrily chasing a sundae glass around the floor as he slurped greedily at it's contents. He was watched by the two remaining members of staff, who'd found themselves no position to refuse service to a cop, a wolf, and three other men who looked as though they'd won a particularly nasty fight.

“So, will you two be staying in Chicago?” enquired Fraser, picking at his maple syrup waffles and lamenting at the others' lack of enthusiasm when he tried to tell them that of course this wasn't 'true' maple syrup.

Dean, his mouth stained pink, looked like Christmas had come early, but his face fell when Sam replied “No, I'll start looking at local news sites tomorrow, see what sounds like our sorta thing.”

He speared a grape from his fruit salad and continued. “Truth be told, we're not even supposed to be in Chicago at all, this is another hunter's territory; we're just doing her a favour because she was busy.”

“What, there's a demon hunter in Chicago all the time? There are enough demons here for that?” asked Ray

“Demons, ghosts, shapeshifters, and a whole lotta other things that go bump in the night.” grinned Dean through a mouthful of pastry.

“And that's just completely normal to you guys. All these monsters or whatever just walking around the city, that's fine?”

“Pretty much.” shrugged Dean, returning to the remnants of his pie.

“Well, not fine.” said Sam. “But unless they do something to reveal themselves there's not a whole lot we can do about it. You can't just go around the city throwing holy water on people on the off chance.”

“So how do you get to recognise things then? I guess they don't wear badges or whatever.”

“Different monsters can be found different ways, salt and iron will keep away a ghost, shapeshifters hate the touch of silver, saying 'Christo' will make people possessed by demons flinch-”

“Why d'you wanna know all this stuff anyway?” interrupted Dean.

“I would imagine that Ray wishes to be able to recognise and defeat any of these creatures, should we encounter them.” Fraser supplied.

“Woah, no no no, okay, you can't just put on your hunter hat and start throwing salt around at things ok, that's how you get yourself killed.”

“Charging into a fight unprepared is really dangerous, hunting is something that takes a lot of work and expertise.” Sam agreed.

“But if we see something weird-”

“If you see something weird, you give us a call, if it sounds like our sorta thing we'll come check it out.” said Dean, scribbling a couple of cell phone numbers onto a napkin.

“But a lot of the time we're way across country, we don't get up to Chicago much.” Sam explained.

“Yeah, that's because we didn't know about Tom's burger joint.” joked Dean, his grin fading at a look from Sam. “But yeah, you oughta have the number of the local hunter too.”

He added another number to the napkin and circled it. “Her name's Elaine, she's a great hunter.”

Fraser and Ray looked at each other in surprise. “Elaine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wh- Elaine? Elaine Elaine? Surely not. Or maybe? Hmm. I'll leave that one up to you - I have the feeling that whatever I wrote for it could never live up to any headcanons about her being a super awesome hunter. Or perhaps, not being a super awesome hunter, but Fraser and Ray embarrassing themselves thinking that she is and trying to talk to her about it.  
> Anyway friends, the end is upon us. If you read this far I'm very grateful, and would love to hear your thoughts. On the fic, mostly, but you know, whatever takes your fancy...


End file.
